


the solstice ball

by roslindie



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 19th century au?, Attempted Sabotage, M/M, Mutual Pining, but also cute sad teen gays, fancy ballrooms, i decided to move it here from fanfiction.net, lotta angst, mega angst ??, possibly a little graphic, simon and baz being posh and famous, there is death i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 15:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10028174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roslindie/pseuds/roslindie
Summary: simon and baz are both the heirs to famous, prestigious families who are constantly trying to each other. they're also in love. but it's not all that easy in the 19th century where obligations are everything and boys aren't supposed to make out in closets (or maybe they are?? i really didn't think that sentence through)what i'm trying to say isthey're very gayand life is a struggle





	1. in your dreams

**Author's Note:**

> just decided to move this onto ao3 because i like to have all my shit in the same spot :,)

"Lord Tyrannus Basilton Pitch the third."

Even after all these years, Baz still found it awkward to be announced into an empty room. No one had arrived yet as the ball wasn't to start for at least another hour. The aristocracy would not arrive until precisely half an hour before, at least. Only the Earl and the Countess of Albervy were present, making sure every detail of the ballrooms were to their liking, while talking to Baz's parents.

 

Baz had to keep himself from gaping as he entered the gigantic wide open space. The great halls in the Alabaster Castle were the highlight of the palace, even Baz couldn't deny their beauty. They still amazed him even after living there for all of his life. The three rooms spanned before him and he felt immensely tiny, like an ant in a field of grass. The ivory walls of the first hall shot up from the newly polished marble floors, columns and the finest paintings adorning them. Their alabaster color was spotless, the intricate lacework carvings snaking elegantly up the door and window frames effortlessly. The great crystal chandeliers, he counted eight, hung weightlessly above him. Their crystals like drops of rain frozen and the silvery shimmer of their spidery limbs fascinating. Baz became slightly worried that they would drop on him, they were so immense. Smaller, dimmer lamps attached themselves in intervals across the four walls, as if the hanging mammoths of phosphorescence above his head didn't provide enough light. The pale patterned marble beneath his shinning black franklins was slippery as he walked over to greet his parents and the Salisbury's.

Baz could have sliced the tension in the air around the two couples with a knife. It was a well-known fact that the Pitches and the Salisbury's absolutely could not stand each other. Though their voices seemed to be polite as he got closer, Baz had known the Salisbury's long enough to know that what politeness there was between the two families, was just good acting.

They stood close to the large, curved but rectangular windows that overlooked to the palace gardens, now alight so the guests of the Solstice ball could still few them from afar. It was Countess who spoke first, her eyes meeting Baz's.

"And here is the young Lord himself! We're very pleased that you get to share our son's ball tonight." The words struck Baz as genuine, but her husband's expression suggested he thought otherwise.

The Countess of Albervy was bright, her freshly curled golden hair swept high onto her delicate head in a chignon. Her dress was a pale glassy blue, the collar stretching up her pale column of neck, the silvery sleeves just reaching her elbows.

"The honor is all mine, Lady Albervy. I hope you find our great halls to be sufficient for tonight."

"I do, very much. Thank you for agreeing to host it in the Alabaster Castle. I know the circumstances aren't exactly ideal."

Everyone immediately knew what she meant. Both families had planned balls for their sons on the exact same date, so it had been decreed that they would have them together. Which just worked out great, seeing that the two families were nothing less than enemies. The Salisbury's and the Pitch's had been two of the most famed aristocratic families, always battling to be at the top of the social food chain. The Earl and Countess of Albervy, Lucy and David Salisbury had been fighting against the Earl and Countess of Beauveton, Baz's parents, ever since Baz had been little. It was a harmless fight, mostly battled out in gossip and the sabotage of parties and balls like these.

Baz supposed it had been a good idea to combine the balls being thrown for the heirs of both families, so they couldn't sabotage each other without risking their own success.

 

Just thinking about the heir of Albervy made Baz's face warm and his head become muddled. Simon Salisbury was sure to find someone to marry tonight, Baz didn't doubt it. After all, this was what the Solstice ball was for, finding two brides for the two heirs. Introducing them as eligible bachelors. What fun.

Baz made his head get rid of the unwanted thought and glanced over to the countess of Albervy again. She was the nicest of the four when it came to being civil to the other family, and Baz truly doubted that she cared about the petty feud any more than he did. It was her husband that was the problem.

The dark haired Earl of Albervy was at her side, his intense green eyes firmly set on observing Baz. Calculating his every move. Of all the times they had been at these parties and balls in each other's company, Baz had never heard the Earl speak more than a few words to anybody. The Earl of Albervy was very well guarded and kept to himself, unlike the Countess who was a favorite to all for her openness and kindness.

"They aren't. But we'll just have to make do. We can't win them all."

Baz's mother, Natasha, said, smiling painfully at the Countess of Albervy. Her dress for the Solstice ball was of deep lilac purple, the style not unlike that of the other Countess. They had known each other for many years, the two Countesses, having lived nearby to each other. Lucy had always been very friendly with Baz's parents despite their feud, unlike her husband who, of course, had never said anything too directly, as he barely spoke, but his hatred of the Pitches had been very strongly implied, on numerous occasions. And of course there was the gossip he spread. If there was one thing on the face of the earth Baz could do without, it was the bloody aristocratic gossip.

"No we cannot, Natasha. Let us make this night enjoyable for our sons, if it means putting this hatred aside."

Baz could tell his mother was trying not to frown. "I agree."

The Earl of Albervy gave a grunt.

"It must be getting close to the hour. We'd better go and freshen up before everyone starts to arrive." Lucy Salisbury said. "We'll be seeing you all very soon. And Baz?" she tapped his arm. "You look very sharp. I do hope tonight will be memorable for you."

She smiled at him, and gave Baz's parents a polite inclination of her head. The Earl just gave them a curt nod, before taking the Countesses' arm and leading her off.

The Pitch family was assembled in the main sitting room, everyone except for Mordelia who was confined to her rooms until the Solstice ball was over. This night was all his, his parents has said.

His- and Simon's.

 

The sitting room too was beautiful as the great halls had been, a pale blue green color with more ornate ivory coloured decorations. Baz's parents were conversing in hushed tones on the opposite end of the room from him, sitting on the golden pair of chairs, a gift to the family from the Wellbeloves. A vase of pale yellow roses sat atop a desk at the edge of the room, where Baz's Aunt Fiona was leaning, rubbing one of the petals between her fingers.

"Yes. Surprisingly these are real." She said.

Baz smoothed his jet black hair for the fifth time in a minute, wishing that time would go faster.

"And why is that particularly surprising?"

Fiona was wearing a dress of the deepest cherry red, starkly contrasting with the pastel room. It had lines in black lace and satin, a heavy black pendant sitting at her throat. She pulled a packet of cigarettes from up the puffed sleeve of her gown, lighting it on one of the many candles burning in the sitting room. The Alabaster Castle, Baz had noticed, seemed to have a lot of candles, even he didn't know where they came from. It made the castle constantly bright and warm, smelling of smoke. It might have also been Fiona's cigarettes.

"I don't know, Baz. The Earl- David Salisbury- was in here earlier with Simon. Showing him around. He could have put some trickery into the decorations here to make your first ball the laughingstock of the aristocracy."

Baz snorted, leaning back in his chair. Thank God his parents were too focused to hear them talking about such things. Fiona was truly a bad influence and he was surprized they hadn't noticed.

"Why bother? I doubt anyone but you would bother to check the flowers to see if they were **real.** And the Earl of Albervy always looks suspicious. It's his job, Fiona." He flicked a speck of lint off of the knee of his trousers.

"And stop smoking. You'll be the one to ruin my reputation with the families, if anyone."

Fiona doused the end of her cigarette in the vase water, and proceeded to flick it out one of the sitting room's windows. She turned around to stare at him, leaning on the back of a chair.

"Just think, Basil. If you never find a suitable bride, then the line of Pitch will be ended. We have to consider that the Salisbury's are planning something at any given moment."

Baz scoffed, straightening his tailcoat.

"And damage their own son's chance at finding his own suitable bride at this ball? I very much doubt it, Fiona."

Fiona strode over and plopped herself down on the sofa opposite him.

"Basil, don't be daft. Perhaps without Lucy knowing, but of course he would. As long as it puts the Salisbury's on top. Do you really think Simon Salisbury will have trouble finding a lady to marry him? The Wellbeloves are at his feet, trying to convince him to marry their daughter. The Wellbeloves, Baz! Our family, your parents, have edged the Salisbury's out of being the most highly recognized family for years. You think that they'll stop just because their son might not get the highest dowry?"

Baz almost laughed, rolling his eyes at Fiona.

"You're ridiculous. They practically made an agreement just a couple minutes ago with my parents that there would not be any sabotage at the Solstice ball tonight!"

Fiona crossed her arms, her eyes bright with frustration.

"I don't trust them, Baz. I don't trust him. I say we make a plan."

Baz was getting frustrated with her now, rolling his eyes. Fiona and her plans.

"Fiona, I will not purposefully harm Simon Salisbury and further the idiotic feud between our families."

"You could just slightly trip him up when you start to make your entrances and…"

She looked thoughtfully up at the ceiling, plotting as Baz watched her.

"Have you seen him? He'd probably do that himself, without my help."

"Or you could possibly get him on to the alcohol and then…"

"Fiona! I am not getting Simon Salisbury drunk on purpose, on the night of his debutante ball!"

"You could pretend that it was an accident…"

"I am not getting Simon Salisbury drunk and that is final. Sabotage him yourself, but do not make me a part of it!"

 

Baz's head was going wild with thoughts of a drunk Simon and he was desperately trying to force them out. The things that a drunk Simon Salisbury would say… the things he would do.

" _Basilton, I can't marry Agatha Wellbelove. Since the day we met at that luncheon and you made me spill my tea all over my new jumper and called me a 'bloody git', all I've ever wanted to know was the sweet caress of your lips. Let's run away together and never look back. We could be so happy. I love you. Let's run away together."_

 

"A part of what?"

It was Baz's father who strode over to them the sitting room, followed by his mother who sat herself down elegantly in the chair beside him. Baz resisted the urge to frown, keeping his expression nonchalant.

"Nothing, Father. Fiona and I were just discussing the ball."

"Ah." Baz's father fixed the cuffs of his jacket. "Well I'm glad to say that the ballroom is finally prepared, and almost everyone is already in attendance. We should be making our entrance in a minute. What do you say, Natasha?"

Baz's mother smiled, shifting in her lilac dress.

"I think we should head up now. They will be waiting for us. Waiting for you, Basilton."

And Simon.

"They're all going to adore you. Just like I do."

She stood up to smooth down his hair as if he was no more than five and not a young adult of eighteen. He couldn't help but lean into her touch.

"Let's be off, then." Baz's father stood, rebuttoning his tailcoat and helping Fiona to her feet. As they walked, Fiona drifted closer to Baz, leaning in to quietly speak next to his ear.

"Just think about it."

Baz ignored her.

 

As they neared, Baz could hear the sawing of strings upstairs and the patter of feet, the chatter in the ballroom. They reached the top of the ornate marble staircases, and Baz's stomach lurched as he looked down upon the mass of lords and ladies gossiping and drinking in the ballroom below. The string quartet was playing, and everyone was dancing, spinning about with bustling colorful skirts and slim black tailcoats.

His father reached to pat him on the shoulder, looking down on Baz with a hardened, yet encouraging gaze.

"Tyrannus, I would not hold it against you if you mess about with Simon Salisbury tonight."

Baz knew that his father was not implying what his mind had immediately thought of, and he frowned, trying to restrain from scolding his father for being so… so without morals.

"I understand, father."

His father stepped away from him, to offer Baz's mother his arm and Baz dared another glance down at the cheerful nobility waltzing throughout the ballroom.

 

Oh God, he wasn't ready. He had told himself that he was ready for this so many times, but he had still failed at convincing himself. Could everyone else tell how wrong this was? It felt like his heart was crumbling to dust inside his chest. The rest of his body ached, as if it too, knew how wrong this was. But there was absolutely no other way.

"The Lord and Lady Pitch!"

His mother and father strode effortlessly down the stairs as they had done so many times. How was Baz supposed to run the family after they were gone? How could he possibly replace them? How could he possibly uphold the Pitch's honor against Simon bloody Salisbury? Baz couldn't breathe. His suit was too tight and he was going to have to find a bride! A woman he had to marry! He had no choice. And he had to produce an heir. Baz's eyes closed, the music seeming more taunting than cheery, the laughter echoing through the great hall seeming fake and forced. They could have just as easily been laughing at him. Laughing at him as he failed to marry, failed to produce an heir and killed the Pitch bloodline when he died.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. It was Fiona. She gave him a sympathetic, knowing smile. Because she knew. And she pitied him.

 

The worst day of his life had been when his parents had just announced that it was time for Baz to go in search of a wife, and that they would be having a ball. Announced to all the noble families that he was ready to go and settle down with a girl, even though he wasn't. Fiona had seen the way he had looked.

"Basil. Don't pretend with me. I've known you were… you, ever since the time I took you out to have new a new tailcoat made and you actually spent more time admiring the tailor boy's lips than you did your new jacket."

"But Basil, don't you think about how hard it would be for you not to take a bride? The pride of the family will one day rest on you. Some of it does, even now. Do you think that they would ever accept it?"

"I'm sorry, Baz. It's just so impossible."

"I'm sorry everyone's like this."

Fiona had hugged him. She could be really alright sometimes.

Right then, she sauntered down the steps as her name was called, keeping her chin up high. Why hadn't Fiona had a son? Someone who could take his place. Someone just like her. Who would murder anyone who got in her way. Because even though he refused to admit it to himself sometimes, he was rubbish at this. He was all walls now. Nothing worthwhile inside them either. No one would ever know who he truly was, or how he truly felt.

His feelings would never matter to anybody. He would never truly matter to anybody.

 

They announced the Earl and Countess of Albervy, and the rest of the Salisbury family followed. The smug look that David Salisbury was wearing made Baz start to reconsider Fiona's suggestion, but he had no time for that. He was about to be announced. There was just one thing missing.

Where in the bloody hell was Simon Salisbury?

Baz waited for a minute. He smoothed his hair, breathing hard and fixed his posture. Shoulders back, chin up, straight back, small smile. Lastly, he hid whatever emotion was in his eyes. He had just finished perfecting his mask when a positively flustered Simon Salisbury rounded a corner and crashed straight into him.

Simon was panting, breathing harshly though his mouth as he ran a hand through his unruly curls. His tailcoat was crooked, one of his shoelaces untied. His hair was in ringlets, more perfect than any of the court ladies, golden like it had come straight off a spinning wheel. It seemed to capture the light, his everything seemed to capture the light.

"Salisbury." Baz said, trying to act as though Simon bumping into him hadn't fazed him in the slightest. "It's nice of you to show up. I was afraid we'd have to start the ball without you."

Maybe this was all part of some plan to throw Baz's composure off right before they had to make their entrance, but Simon seemed genuinely addled. Baz didn't dare meet Simon's eyes for fear that he would lose himself in their depths, and never find his way out. He didn't need to look at them, to remember their beauty. Those gorgeous eyes like the pale blue sea glass Mordelia was always finding for him when they went to the beach.

Simon was hastily trying to arrange himself, tying his muddled up shoelaces and straightening his trousers. He was ignoring Baz, which made Baz feel a smidge of contentment.

"Where exactly were you, these past few minutes? We were supposed to be announced a quarter of an hour ago!"

Simon met his eyes, straightening up and clenching his jaw.

"I got lost." He grumbled.

Baz could barely contain his laugher. Simon was still the same as he had been when they had met at five years old, he was still running late, and still getting lost. The thought comforted Baz. Everything in their lives was changing, but Simon Salisbury still couldn't help getting lost. He was about to made another snide comment but he froze when he heard the music stop.

It was time.

 

"Lord Tyrannus Basilton Pitch the third and Lord Simon Salisbury!"

He heard Simon take a deep breath beside him and he glanced over. Of course, he didn't look nervous at all. It was so hard to take those first steps, when he could feel all the eyes of the room on him, hear everyone holding their breath. The lights, the chandeliers were so bright. He couldn't focus on anything, wasn't sure if he'd trip. His only thought was that he didn't belong here. What was he doing here, in this life?

He was a boy of shadows, he was not for the light.

Focus, he needed to focus. He couldn't trip. He needed to focus.

Focus, focus, focus.

He saw the Agatha Wellbelove talking to a shorter girl with frizzy dark hair wearing dark blue. They were both looking at him.

He felt his feet falter but he caught himself.

He felt his eyes focus on a sweep of blond eyelashes, a dab of rose lips, slim trembling fingers.

Simon's hands were trembling.

The thought anchored him.

Oh what he would have given to hold those hands.

 

Baz held in his sigh of absolute relief as he reached the bottom of the stairs. There were so many people. People who wanted to talk to him. About everything.

His gaze was still on Simon. He dropped it immediately. He stood in the corner of the large room for a couple minutes, just watching every bustling about. Simon had gone over to talk to Agatha Wellbelove and Fiona was helping herself to an appetiser being served on a silver tray. He started to head towards one of the serving footmen, deciding that he needed a drink if he was going to survive this night. Baz truly hated alcohol, but taking a sip was a good way to get out of answering unwanted questions if he wanted. He got intercepted before his fingers could touch a glass.

"Basilton!"

He turned, his eyes coming to rest on a familiar face. Lady Melisandre was an old friend of the Pitch family and had known him ever since he was a newborn. She was smiling at him, making the wrinkles on her skin more prominent. Lady Melisandre had always been one to wear vibrant, noveau looking dresses, despite her age, and tonight was no exception. She had on a gown of rose pink. Not unlike the color of Simon Salisbury's lips.

Baz scolded himself for the thought.

"My lady." He said, inclining his head politely. "So glad to see you here tonight."

She was standing oddly far away from him, not hugging him as she usually did. Baz didn't want think too much of it. Her bronzy eyes were still shinning, reminding Baz of Simon's hair. God he had to stop doing this to himself. Why didn't his heart have an off button?

"I would never have even thought of not attending! And I am quite happy to say that I am not disappointed."

"I am very pleased to hear that." And he really was. Lady Melisandre's approval was worth everything to the nobility. If she liked something, everyone did.

"You and Simon Salisbury both looked quite handsome coming down those stairs tonight. It brought me back to my youth. Although... you are feeling alright, Basilton?"

Baz resisted the urge to frown.

"Of course."

"Oh, alright… I just couldn't be sure. I had… heard some word."

"What?" Baz couldn't contain his surprise.

"Someone had mentioned that you were vey unwell. And that it was… possibly quite contagious."

Baz was trying not to frown, but he couldn't help it. That was why she was keeping her distance from him.

"I apologize, Lady Melisandre. This is a surprise as I am in no means, ill. I do hope not many people got the wrong impression."

Lady Melisandre was frowning as she smoothed her skirts.

"That is odd. I do not remember who it was that told me… but if you are not, in fact, unwell, it is not an issue anymore. I must excuse myself. I have been wanting to have a word with your mother and I have just spotted her. Do enjoy your ball, Basilton."

"My lady." Baz said, watching her leave. Who could have possibly wanted to make the whole ballroom believe he was ill? There seemed no point. He spotted Agatha Wellbelove standing at the edge of the room, her dark haired companion from earlier still at her side. He decided to go see if they too had caught word of Baz's so called 'possibly contagious illness'. Agatha spotted him and turned away from the other girl, her cream coloured gown swirling gracefully with her. She didn't smile at him.

"Basilton." She called him by his Christian name, since their families were very close. "I'll admit I didn't think I'd be seeing you tonight. I thought you'd be back up in your rooms from that bought of sickness that struck you after you entered."

Once again Baz could barely keep his composure.

"But I am by no means ill, Agatha!"

She looked slightly shocked, her perfect lips hanging open, as did the girl to her right.

"You aren't? Goodness gracious, Basilton. Everyone's saying you've come down with some horrible illness and that you aren't to be touched."

"Well I never said anything of the sort!"

Baz had crossed him arms without even noticing he had done it. Agatha turned back to the girl at her side.

"Where did we hear it, Penny? I can't seem to remember…" she look thoughtful "This is Lady Penelope Bunce, Basilton, if you haven't been introduced."

 

The girl stepped forward, nodding her head at him with a kind of intelligence in her eyes that Baz immediately admired. Her dark blue gown was very regal, and suited her well.

"I don't believe we have had the pleasure of meeting. And I do believe it was Simon Salisbury who told us, Agatha. He seemed to think that you were quite unwell after talking to you before you made your entrance and said that you'd told him you were going to have to head straight up to bed as soon as you were finished being announced."

Baz's frown deepened.

"But I said nothing to him beyond asking him why he was late! Definitely nothing to lead him to believe I was about to drop deap from a terrible illness."

Lady Penelope Bunce looked up at the ceiling, seeming to contemplate was Baz had said.

"Maybe he just misheard you. It's very loud in hear." Agatha said, seeming to become disinterested with the topic.

"I really doubt it, Agatha. He couldn't have possibly misheard me that terribly." Baz grumbled.

"What if he said it on purpose?" Penelope said and they both turned to look at her.

"What do you mean?" Agatha asked, frowning.

"What if Simon wanted to make everyone to think Basilton was ill and contagious so everyone at the ball would only focus on him. Make it hard for him to find a dance partner. Or start courting anyone."

Baz was sure he looked as shocked as he felt.

"But Simon would never do anything as cruel as that!" Agatha said exactly what Baz had been thinking.

"But his father would." Penelope Bunce said, a smile crossing her lips and a look of excitement in her eyes. Agatha looked slightly confused but everything was starting to make sense to Baz. Fiona had been right. David Salisbury was not to be trusted. Even if they had made an agreement

"I've got to go talk to him."

Baz could feel his heart pounding and knew that everyone could probably see the anger in his eyes, but he didn't care. He spotted Simon Salisbury and started to walk briskly towards him, trying not to stomp too loudly. The boy was by the doorway to the next hall, talking to a pretty brunette in an orangey dress, smiling that smile that always killed Baz even though it was never for him. He practically grabbed Simon by the arm and dragged him into an adjacent hallway, not really caring who saw them. Simon's eyes were wide and confused as Baz practically cornered him, crossing his arms.

 

"What the fuck, Salisbury. I thought we had a truce."

Baz could feel his body shaking not just with anger, but with Simon being so close.

"What?" Simon's voice was equally as loud, his eyes darting around probably to see if anyone was looking at them.

"The truce, for God's sakes! No sabotage at the Solstice ball?"

"Basilton, what are you talking about?"

Baz took a deep breath, closing his eyes and taking a step back. Simon rubbed his arm.

"Of course he had to find a bloody loop hole in the agreement. For once in your life, Salisbury, can you give me a straight, truthful, answer. Did your father tell you to try and sabotage me?"

There was a look of recognition in Simon's eyes and he ran a frustrated hand through his mop of ringlets.

"He did." Baz nearly hissed but somehow he kept himself in control. "But I swear, I was never going to do it! I genuinely thought you were sick, Baz. I was watching you when we were waiting to make our entrance. You looked sick. And when he told me to tell everybody, I didn't think twice."

Just the thought of Simon Salisbury noticing that he had been absolutely not okay when they had walked down those steps made some of Baz's anger dissipate. He made himself scowl.

"Well I'm not sick. So you've already succeeded at screwing me over once! I should have known that there would never be honest peace between us."

Simon was frowning.

"Peace between our families. We don't have to sabotage each other just because they want us to. I was actually hoping to enjoy myself tonight." Simon said.

"Well it's too late for that, Salisbury. You've already thrown the fired the first shot. Maybe you can escape the responsibilities your family shoves on you, but I can't."

Baz couldn't believe he was having this conversation anymore. He didn't have time for this. He ought to be out in the ballroom dancing and making sure everyone knew he was fine. Making sure to be the perfect gentleman, and chatting up all the young ladies.

"Please, Lord Basilton." Simon's eyes were genuinely pleading. Oh what a moment. Simon Salisbury was begging him to stop. "Let's not be our parents."

Baz turned his back to the other boy and started to walk back towards the ballroom.

"It's too late for that."

Baz heard footsteps and froze completely as he felt Simon's hand on his shoulder.

"Baz."

Simon Salisbury could have been called Simon Snow for what he did to Baz, making him freeze everytime he looked at him. Making Baz's heart stutter and become solid in his chest before it threatened to shatter into a million pieces. Simon made his heart hurt with that clenching feeling of thawing after having frozen fingers. Burning cold.

They stood at the door way to the ball, and Baz could already see people looking at them. Simon's parents were looking at them. Simon's hand left his shoulder and it felt like a piece of Baz's heart had been torn off.

"At least let me offer you a drink." He held out a thin fluted glass of champagne to Baz. "I want you to know that I give you my word. I won't do anything to wrong you tonight."

Baz scoffed softly, feeling Simon's warm breath on his ear.

"Your word means nothing to me." But he took the champagne. He turned to face Simon, daring to look into those blue eyes. He felt it start to shatter him once again as Simon stared back at him, looking serious and intense.

 _He could never be with Simon Salisbury_.

Only tonight had the thought actually seemed true. When he was alone, he could imagine their future, but standing here, Simon telling him that he didn't want them to fight, Baz knew it was true. He felt it in his heart like a shard of ice piercing his chest.

 

He raised the champagne to his lips. "Don't think that I will play fair just because you gave me your word."

Simon looked away, his mouth set in a firm line.

"I could never be that stupid."

"That is debatable."

Simon glared at him as Baz took a sip of the champagne and immediately had to try not to spit it out. It tasted like pure salt water. He was near gagging but somehow he managed to swallow the sip, his throat turning into a desert. He needed water. But first he needed to kill Simon Salisbury.

Simon was looking straight at him, looking sheepish and guilty when Baz glared at him.

"Salisbury." He almost growled. "Did you just put salt in my champagne?"

Simon Salisbury grimaced, pressing his lips together.

"I had to make it look like I was drugging it! Salt was the least harmful thing I could replace it with."

Baz cursed, and Simon looked slightly apologetic.

"Your father was going to have you drug me?" Baz's voice was quiet with rage.

Simon shrugged and Baz nearly blew it. Boy, he wanted to punch him. And kiss him because he hadn't drugged him. Maybe he could kiss him, and then punch him? But everyone in the ballroom could see them…

"It wasn't anything too harmful." Simon was rambling, his cheeks flushed. "Just some stuff to make you sick so you had to miss the party."

Baz glared at him again. "I thought you just said you wouldn't harm me at this party. Now your word is truly worth nothing."

Simon was getting exasperated, gesturing with his hands. "Well they had to see me put something in your drink. Would you rather it have been the poison?"

"I am so through with you, Salisbury. I-"

 

"My lords, I hate to interrupt." There was a footman standing beside them suddenly, looking at them like they were a bit odd. "It is time for you to lead the next dance in the great ballroom."

Baz took a large breath and turned his head away from Simon. "Very well." The footman walked on ahead and Baz still wouldn't look at the other boy. "This is not over." He hissed toward Simon.

The two of them were lead to the center of the room, Baz avoiding looking beside him at Simon. He was going to do something in revenge. He had to. Fiona would never forgive him if he didn't. They were given partners and of course Simon got Agatha. Baz was trying to maintain his fake smile, but all he wanted to do was sneer.

 

The quartet took up a lively waltz, and at once the two of them started to lead their partners up and down the floor, spinning in time with music. All Baz could focus on was Simon. He was spinning Agatha around, smiling at her and apologizing as he accidentally stepped on her toes. He had never been the most graceful dancer. Baz's teeth were clenched with watching them. He didn't know what bothered him more.

That Simon had put salt in his drink, or that he was dancing with Agatha. That he was dancing with Agatha, and not with Baz.

Baz felt his mind drift off, thinking of dancing with Simon Salisbury. How Simon's arms would wrap around his neck and he would bury his face in Baz's shoulder, smelling of bacon and fresh cinnamon buns.

But it would never happen. They were enemies. It was forbidden. Simon would never think of him in that way. Simon would never even consider him a friend.

There were other couples joining them on the dance floor now, As Baz and his partner grew closer, Baz's toe caught on something and he felt himself trip. He nearly fell but thankfully the girl he was partnering caught him and steadied him. It was then he realized what had tripped him.

Simon Salisbury's bloody foot.

 

The next time the two couples neared, Baz tentatively stuck out his own foot, just enough so that…

Simon actually did fall, luckily not bringing down Agatha down with him. Baz felt terrible. But this was war between their families. And he had no choice.

Simon pulled himself up, his attire messed up once again. Agatha helped him smooth out his tailcoat and fix his hair. Baz could barely watch.

That should be him. That should have been him.

As soon as they had resumed dancing, Baz immediately felt Simon's gaze burning on him. He glanced at him, feigning indifference as Simon's eyes blazed like blue fire. Baz kept staring, but didn't apologize. He saw Simon mouth a:

_What the fuck Basilton._

Baz found himself smirking, urging himself to dance more gracefully, swirling his partner around effortlessly, if only to get on Simon's nerves. Let him envy Baz's partner. Let him wish he was the one dancing with Baz.

_Just returning the kindness._

He saw Simon's nostrils flare and he momentarily closed his eyes, throwing himself even more off balance. Yes, Simon Salisbury was definitely not a nominee for most graceful dancer of the year.

_It was a bloody accident! I moved Agatha and I too close to you!_

Baz snorted and his partner gave him a weird look.

 _Everything's an accident where you're concerned, Salisbury_. Baz mouthed back, as the music changed and they switched partners. Agatha Wellbelove was spun into his arms. She smiled at him. He frowned. She smelled like Simon.

When Simon caught Baz's eyes again, his gaze was still burning.

 _Fuck you._ He mouthed.

 

Soon the dancing was over, and everyone resumed talking, chatter re-filling the air. Baz sought out another glass of champagne, without salt, and went in search of Fiona. He found her leaning at the edge of the room, a vibrant cocktail grasped in her gloved fingers.

He went to stand beside her, and she raised her eyebrows at him by way of greeting. "Baz." She took a long sip of the dark red liquid. "Impressive job there, tripping Salisbury."

Baz rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his champagne. "I didn't do it for the family. He tripped me first." He knew he sounded like a child, but every time he had ever insulted or hurt Simon, he had always needed to justify it. It was the only way he could live with himself.

"If that's what you need to believe." She pulled up one of her black lace gloves.

"Fiona, he tried to poison my champagne."

She shrugged. "You look alright to me."

"Because he didn't actually go through with it. I asked him and he admitted that his father had put him to it."

Fiona didn't look surprised.

"You absolutely have to do something now, Basilton. You aren't just going to let them get away with this, are you?"

Baz sighed. Fiona would never forgive him if he didn't do anything. He watched her take another large sip of her cocktail.

"I say you go find him, and you lock him up in one of the storage closets until the night is over."

"Fiona, that's absolutely insane."

But even as he said it, Baz was starting to consider it. He wouldn't have to hurt Simon to please his family and protect the honor of the Pitch's. He simply had to lock him in a closet. He looked up to find Fiona staring at him, looking smug.

"Fine, Fiona. I'll do it."

She reached up the sleeve of her gown and placed a silvery key in his hand. What didn't she have up her sleeve?

"This is the key to one of the storage closets just outside the great halls. In fact, you don't even have to use it to lock the door. Just unlock it, shove him in and slam it. It will be easy."

Baz slipped the key into his pocked, turning to glance around the ballroom. He couldn't see Simon anywhere. He finally spotted the bronze curls in the corner of the room, talking to Agatha Wellbelove. Again. He immediately started to walk towards them, holding his chin up and keeping his eyes on Simon. When he stepped in front of them, they both stopped talking.

 

"Basilton." Agatha said, her voice soft like a dove.

"Hello, Agatha." He said, not meeting her eyes. Baz could feel Simon's eyes boring into the side of his head, probably wondering what Baz was scheming.

 _Let him wonder_ , Baz thought. _He'll find out soon enough._

"Can I borrow Lord Salisbury from you for a moment?" he asked, keeping his tone business-like.

Agatha nodded. "Certainly. I'll leave you to it." She dipped her head towards Simon before she strode away, her white dress floating like a cloud behind her.

Baz turned to Simon, his eyes meeting Simon's which were confused but also very stern.

"What is this about, Basilton?"

Simon sounded frustrated and Baz couldn't

"I need to show you something." Baz said, challenging Simon with his eyes.

"Is it important? Because I was just talking with Lady Agatha and-"

"It is quite important. Follow me." Baz said, turning on his heel and being surprised that Simon actually started walking beside him. He'd thought for sure he'd have to drag him by his ear or something. Maybe Baz had misjudged what kind of a night Simon was having. Maybe his night was going just as poorly as Baz's was.

They walked in silence, Baz looking over his shoulder once at Simon. He hadn't asked any questions and it seemed like he was lost in thought when Baz looked to his eyes. They reached the hallway and Baz noticed the two closet doors immediately. Of course Fiona hadn't told him which closet the key was for. He stopped in front of the first one and he felt Simon come up beside him.

 

"So what is it?" Simon asked, his voice sounding slightly tired.

"My parents had something they wanted me to get for a couple of the guests and it's quite heavy." Baz lied, pulling the key from his pocket before realizing that the door was already hanging open a crack. He opened it wider.

"Couldn't they have gotten the servants to do it?"

"They were all taken with serving and cooking." Baz said smoothly. "Go on, then. Get in there and help me pull it out."

Simon hesitantly slipped into the closet and Baz immediately tried to shut it. Just as he was closing, he felt hands pushing back against the door.

"Baz! What the hell are you doing?"

Baz stumbled for a second and the door flung open, Simon grabbing at his tailcoat and trying to pull himself out. Baz kept pushing but Simon managed to drag him into the closet with him. It was so dark, he couldn't see where Simon was. And it was terribly cramped as they wrestled, both of them breathing heavily.

There was a slam. The closet went completely black and immediately the wrestling stopped.

"Fuck."

"Do you-"

"I have the key, just hold on."

Baz shifted, trying to reach his hand into his trousers pocket and find the key. He felt something pressing down on his foot and he almost shouted.

"Sorry, sorry." Simon stepped off of Baz's toes.

Baz's fingers weren't finding the key in his pocket, only feeling fabric. He could hear Simon's breathing and feel it on his face. It was very distracting.

"I think I may have dropped it. Just let me-"

Baz reached down, crouching down, his head hitting Simon's chest and his arms brushing against the fabric of Simon's trousers. Simon kneed him in the face.

"Watch it." He grumbled.

"Sorry. It's incredibly tight in here."

Baz felt the floorboards, getting nothing. He was about to give up when finally his hands touched something small and cold. He sighed a breath of relief.

"Found it."

"Good."

He tried to get up, pushing his back against the wall, but he tripped over Simon's foot and ended up hanging onto the other boy's shoulders, panting. His face was against Simon's tailcoat and he took his hands off Simon's shoulders to brace himself on the opposite wall, unintentionally pressing himself up closer. His senses were completely entrapped in how Simon smelt and how his chest touched Baz's every time he took a breath.

He quickly pulled himself off Simon. It took every shred of self-control he had. He reached his hand against the door behind him, feeling for the keyhole. He found it and pushed the key in, trying to turn it. It didn't work.

He pulled it out and re-entered it, trying to turn it yet again.

Baz froze.

 

_The doors lock as soon as you shut them._

 

Baz realized he hadn't actually used the key to unlock the door. It had already been hanging open a touch and he hadn't had to even put the key into the lock. What if this key was for the other closet, and not the one they were currently locked in?

God, they were trapped.

He was trapped in a closet with Simon Salisbury.

"Basilton?" Simon's voice was quiet, like he didn't want to know the answer to his question. "Did you get it?"

"We have the wrong key."

He heard Simon's sharp intake of breath and then there was a sigh that broke Baz's heart.

For a minute, it was quiet except for the sound of their breathing.

"We're going to miss the rest of the ball. We're going to miss it. I can't miss it." Simon's voice sounded cracked, broken.

"There's not much I can do about it, Salisbury."

But Baz could tell that Simon wasn't listening to him.

 

"You don't understand."

"I think, Salisbury, you'll find that I do." Baz snorted. "No one will bloody well care if you miss the rest of the ball. You will have no trouble finding an eligible lady to marry."

Simon's voice was wavering.

"You don't understand." He repeated. "I needed this to go well with Agatha. I will never have another chance like this to convince her."

Baz huffed. "To convince her of what?"

Simon's voice was small. "To marry me."

Baz felt his face fall. He was glad for the cover of the darkness, so Simon couldn't see the despair on his face. He scolded himself, of course Simon had to marry. But his chest hurt so bad. It hadn't seemed real until now.

"At least you will have a suitable bride. I have absolutely no chance at happiness." Baz said simply, keeping his voice without emotion.

"Why?" Simon's voice was curious.

"I will never be happy marrying any one of the ladies in the ballroom."

"So your lover is not of the aristocracy?"

Baz was trying so hard to keep his voice calm and monotone. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine that he was anywhere but this closet, that Simon Salisbury wasn't asking him this question.

"That is not what I meant. I-"

 

He felt Simon stumble on one of the brooms in the closet, crashing into Baz, his hands on Baz's chest. He was so close, Baz could feel his breath on his lips. Could feel Simon's hair brush his forehead. It grew completely silent again. Both of them becoming absolutely still. Baz was just about to make a snarky remark, trying to ignore the leg of Simon's trousers brushing against his.

Baz didn't dare move.

God, he wanted to kiss him. Just once.

Then he could go back to his pitiful existence, marry who his father wanted and forget about Simon Salisbury. Except for the fact that he could never forget. He would never forget and he would be the shell of a person. He was always a shell of a person. Without Simon.

Baz's back was still pressed against the door, trapped by Simon leaning over him. Why wasn't he getting off him already? It was making this so much more difficult.

Every part of him ached to touch Simon. Run his hands through Simon's curls. Just once.

He was about to shove Simon away when he felt something warm brush his temple. He felt Simon Salisbury's hand weave its way into his hair. He felt Simon Salisbury's rose lips on his.

It was happening.

 

Baz was so surprized and overwhelmed all at once, he nearly gasped, before he let himself become pliant under Simon. Simon's body was pinning Baz to the wall, and Baz couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. He couldn't think about anything else but Simon's mouth.

It was so good. Baz let himself reach both hands up to Simon's neck, feeling a moan build at the back of his neck. Simon didn't seem to be stopping and his kisses were urgent, like he was looking for reassurance in Baz. That they were going to get out of this closet, that they weren't going to have to marry and pretend to be happy, that they weren't going to be thrown in prison for what they were doing.

They would be thrown in prison, if someone found out.

Baz almost broke away at the thought, thinking of Simon being arrested, his eyes broken while everything he loved was torn away from him. But Simon's lips were still there, kissing him urgently and he couldn't think of anything else for more than a second. Simon's hair was so soft and curly between Baz's fingers, his column of neck so smooth. Simon's hand kept coming up to push at Baz's chest, to grip at his waist, ripping a button from Baz's tailcoat.

When they broke, both of them breathing hard, Baz could tell Simon was staring at him. He could faintly see the glint of Simon's eyes. What was he thinking? Since when had he wanted this?

There were warm arms around Baz as Simon pulled him into a hug, resting his head on Baz's shoulder. His next words were so true, but they broke Baz's heart.

"N-no one can know."

 

Baz felt something wet drop onto his neck, and he wondered if Simon was crying. Simon Salisbury crying on his shoulder. Another dream Baz had had in the past. Or maybe he himself was crying. In some way it worse. Knowing that Simon had kissed him, knowing that they could never be together, even if they wanted to. Simon had kissed him, and it had changed nothing. Baz could never ever hold his hand at a luncheon, never dance with him at a ball, never share a bed with him, even if Simon had kissed him.

"I know."

His heart was in tatters. Simon was stroking Baz's hair.

"How long have you.." he asked and Baz pulled him closer.

"A long time." He whispered. "How long…"

"Since forever."

Simon started to sigh but it broke into a soft sob. Baz's heart broke with it.

"We're so doomed." He said, and Baz couldn't deny it.

"At least our families will be happy that we look like we threw some punches."

Simon gave a choked laugh and Baz snorted, reaching to kiss the mole on Simon's cheek. The one he had always wanted to kiss.

"It's a shame that the joke's on them." Simon said, "I would have so creamed you, Basilton." His eyes closed and his head fell on Baz's shoulder.

"In your dreams." Baz said, placing his hands on Simon's waist. He started to sway gently, the music from the ballroom drifting into the closet ever so quietly.

 

This was the only dance they would ever get.

 

"I think we are in my dreams." Simon said quietly, pulling Baz closer. He stepped on Baz's toes every once and a while, but Baz couldn't care less. They just rocked back and forth.

For once they didn't have to care about who saw them,

Baz closed his eyes, just enjoying how Simon felt beneath his hands, feeling his breath on Baz's neck sending shivers down his spine.

 

"If we were in my dreams, we would be able to be together." Baz said, his voice quiet.

Simon sighed and Baz just took a deep breath.

There was a loud click, and that was when the closet door opened. It was the last time they would ever hold each other.


	2. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pain

Lady Agatha Wellbelove and Lord Simon Salisbury's wedding was held on a Saturday afternoon and it was beautiful. The chapel was full, white and golden decorations hanging on every inch, the string quartet singing Pachelbel's Canon in D Major. Agatha was walking down the aisle in a lace trimmed dress, the veil over her face only enhancing her beauty. She looked like a goddess. She looked happy.

And Baz thought she had the right to be. After all, she was marrying Simon Salisbury.

They exchanged vows, rings, kisses.

Everyone stood, and everyone was crying. Baz's new bride in the seat next to him, was crying.

When the ceremony was over and he had returned to their new manor house, gone up the stairs, and sealed himself in his room, Baz let himself cry too.

It was loud and his voice was cracked and broken, just like his heart was.

He didn't care who heard him. Tears were flowing down his pale cheeks, his hands fisted in his hair, as he remembered their first and only dance.

In that closet, without light, without music.

It would be Agatha who was dancing with him now.

 

Baz had to produce an heir. He knew that his wife would not take one more night of him denying her without her questioning every thing about him.

Everything was so wrong. Something was cosmically wrong with this, and every cell in Baz's body knew it. She was gasping and moaning, but Baz was feeling nothing.

Until he started imagining it was Simon's hands in his hair.

Until it was Simon who was hot beneath him, Simon who trailed kisses along his chest. He wore his crown of golden curls and his face was flushed bright pink. His sea-glass eyes stared into Baz intensely, seeing him how no one else ever could.

Baz was kissing him so hard, pressing down on Simon so roughly. Simon's rose lips were more rosy than they had ever been.

Baz gave Simon everything that he had.

In the morning, he woke up cold and shaking, reaching across the sheets for scarred hands and a face peppered with moles. The body he found lying next to him was not Simon's.

 

After that night, Baz barely spoke, he barely ate, he barely slept. He was a walking corpse, but he was the only one who could see it.

Nine months later, Baz had a son. His name was William and his laugh sounded like Simon's.

Baz started to wonder if some ancient, heartless gods were messing with him.

William's laugh hurt him more than anything else.

 

A year later in October, David Salisbury died at the hands of disease. Baz had been having afternoon tea with his wife and William when the post arrived. An invitation.

It was cold and everything was grey. Everyone was in black, even the trees were silent.

There were many sad things said, though no one really knew David Salisbury.

Lucy Salisbury was always crying. It was not loud, and it was not much, but her tears were always there. She did not look right in black. The color did not suit her at all. But Baz never saw her wear anything but black after that.

Simon and Agatha were there, two children with sullen faces sitting beside them. A girl and a boy, both with the palest blond hair and Simon's eyes. Baz could barely look at them.

He could barely look at Simon.

It was the first time since the Solstice ball that Simon had actually met his eyes. The blue in Simon's eyes was dull, the sea glass inside them cracked. Simon was a mess, and Baz's heart was immediately ripped to shreds.

After the burial, he trailed Simon to the woods by the cemetery. He didn't speak but he knew that Simon knew he was there.

He was so broken.

Simon turned to Baz, and he quickly took the golden boy in his arms, squeezing him so tight as if to put all of the pieces back together. Simon was crying on his shoulder. Again. Simon was crying on his shoulder.

Baz wouldn't let go.

They didn't move for a long while.

Baz was stroking Simon's hair and almost holding Simon up. His body felt empty and weightless, like a part of him had gone missing since Baz had last held him.

Leaves fell, and it was cold, Simon was so cold, but Baz couldn't move.

The only thing worthwhile was making sure Simon was okay.

 

Baz was always tired. He knew he was getting old, but he couldn't care less, as this life was not the one he wanted.

His bones ached because it was the middle of winter, his hair was graying. His son was settling down. His wife was dead. An accident on the county's slippery roads.

There was nothing Baz felt more guilty about than not missing her more.

He was just so empty.

 

One day, there was something in the post. A luncheon invitation.

Baz almost threw it away, as he did all the others. He never attended any events anymore. If anyone bothered to ask him why, he would just amount it to still being in mourning.

But as he saw the names written on the envelope…

 

He was dressed in his best. His sharpest black tailcoat, his shiniest, newest franklins. His gray hairs were hidden, his stubble reduced to smooth skin. He arrived at their doorstep late, hoping to slip in without anyone talking to him.

No one seemed to notice his entrance. He aimlessly drifted among the other guests, until finally he saw him.

It had been years since they'd seen each other, but Simon Salisbury's golden hair had kept its luster. He was sitting beside Agatha, eagerly chatting with another couple. He glanced away for a mere second and butterflies flooded Baz's stomach as Simon's gaze caught on him.

There was nothing but pure desire in his broken blue eyes. He quickly excused himself from the conversation, gesturing over at Baz. Agatha waved to him, but all Baz could focus on was Simon.

His gaze on Baz was burning hot, and Baz felt every part of him immediately grow warmer.

Simon didn't speak to him, just walked upstairs, cutting his eyes away from Baz. Baz waited a minute before following him. When he opened the door to Simon's rooms, Simon was there instantly, eyes alight.

"Lord Basilton, it's certainly been too long."

His voice was smug, and the way he looked, just standing there with his messed up attire…

It made Baz's heart stop.

"I agree. We can never let this happen again. It is so very important for arch enemies to stay in touch."

Then Simon was kissing him, and his mouth was making Baz's whole body want to combust. His hands were in Baz's hair so fast, his body pressing the taller boy against the bedroom wall.

Baz had never forgotten how Simon's body had felt against his. It was almost like they were twenty years younger and back in that closet. Like they hadn't ever been broken apart, stumbling out into the hallway with a maid staring at them, rips in their tailcoats and rose on their cheeks.

Simon's mouth was urgent and rough, teasing and pulling at Baz's lips, letting moans of pleasure escape them. Both of their jackets were off, and Simon was at Baz's waistcoat, unbuckling and fumbling with the clasp, like he couldn't undress Baz fast enough.

Simon's hair was fisted in Baz's hand as he made his way down Simon's neck, Simon bucking his hips against Baz's, making them both curse in unison.

They were so immersed in each other and so drunk on each other's bodies, they didn't even notice the girl that had seen them. Seen Simon Salisbury kiss another man.

Baz hadn't remembered to close the door.

 

All Baz remembered from that day was screaming. His insides were on fire, his heart was ashes and there were embers burning a hole in his stomach. His whole body was screaming.

He had been having luncheon with Simon and Agatha again when the police came. They didn't bother to knock.

They didn't seem to hear Agatha's screams,

they didn't seem to see Baz shatter a window with his fist,

crying, bloodied, cursing, screaming,

they didn't seem to be anything but faceless men as they dragged Simon away.

Simon had been sobbing and thrashing, his eyes boring into Baz.

Their blue held nothing but pain.

Baz would never forget the way that Simon's eyes had looked as his world was shattered.

It broke his entire being. There was nothing left of him, except a pile of smoldering cinders.

But the thing that shattered Baz the most,

was when they sentenced him to death,

and Simon Salisbury just looked at him,

with those kind, broken, shinning, everything eyes,

and mouthed,

_I'd much rather it be me, than you._

 

It was the darkest day.

No wind blew, no birds sang, the world just stopped.

The square was empty now, except for Baz.

The spectacle was over. No one had wanted to stay for the end.

Baz could not bear it. His fingers had been shaking uncontrollably, his body had ached, his head throbbed, his chest exploding with pure, undiluted, agony. He couldn't even sob.

He couldn't even kneel before the person who meant everything to him, and profess his love a thousand times.

Even as his love was sobbing and grabbing at his neck, he was crying for Agatha, not for Baz.

Because he couldn't cry out for Baz. He didn't want him to have the same fate.

He couldn't even say that he loved him.

Then came the choking and gasping and his face matching the color of his eyes.

Baz could only stand in the middle of the square, watching in horror as the love of his life withered before his eyes.

He couldn't turn away. He owed Simon this much.

He would never forget the accusing look Agatha had given him. Some how she had known. Some how she managed to speak without talking.

_You did this._

_You killed him._

Baz knew she was right _._

 

The square was empty now, except for Baz.

The wind didn't dare blow, the birds didn't dare sing, the world didn't dare go on as long as Simon Salisbury was dead.

Baz didn't dare go on as long as Simon Salisbury was dead.

He spent his every waking moment in a closet, dreaming of blond curls and stubbed toes. Of dances, and plots, and a world that was wholly cruel and unfair.

And when death finally did claim him, no one stood by his bedside. No one held his hand.

Everyone who cared about him was gone and the one person he cared about was dead.

He had no one left.


End file.
